


Office Gossip

by Stackthedeck



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Crack, F/F, Gen, I don't know how to tag this, POV Outsider, do you ever wonder what the rest of the institute is up to?, inspired by a throw away line in season 4 q+a, some time during season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22944613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stackthedeck/pseuds/Stackthedeck
Summary: When Rachel Simmonds got a job at the Magnus Institute, she was ecstatic. She fantasizes about rooms filled with mystical artifacts, secret tunnels with doors to other dimensions, and maybe even saving the world. Her life as a paranormal researcher (not investigator, as she’d been reminded many times) would be a never-ending horrifying adventure. Turns out, that’s not what happens at the Magnus Institute. Nothing happens at the Magnus Institute.After a dress-code incident, the employees of the Magnus Insitute realize they have no idea what the people in the archives actually do. Rachel has decided to find out (and it's definitely not to impress her office crush)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 214





	Office Gossip

When Rachel Simmonds got a job at the Magnus Institute, she was ecstatic. Ever since she was a little kid, she was obsessed with the paranormal, not just in a putting-on-a-sheet-for-Halloween way but in a this-isn’t-healthy-for-a-five-year-old way. When she got a job at the Magnus Institute, it was a dream come true. She fantasizes about rooms filled with mystical artifacts, secret tunnels with doors to other dimensions, and maybe even saving the world. Her life as a paranormal researcher (not investigator, as she’d been reminded many times) would be a never-ending horrifying adventure.

Turns out, that’s not what happens at the Magnus Institute. Nothing happens at the Magnus Institute. Rachel is pretty sure that it’s an elaborate scheme for some rich guy to dodge taxes without actually committing fraud or doing non-profit work. She works in finances and she’s not even sure what she’s financing. It feels like one step up from data entry. She should have taken that job with that podcast, “what the ghost.”

“Did you hear that Lawerence got called into Bouchard’s office for violating the dress code?” Nadia swirls her coffee around her mug, leaning casually at the entrance of Rachel’s cubical, pretending like she’s not fishing for gossip. That’s all anyone ever does, not like there’s actual work to be done. But Nadia is certainly the best at it.

“Lawerence?” Rachel stands up and walks towards the coffee machine. It’s become their ritual, her and Nadia. The cubical is for mind-numbing work. The coffee machine is for gossip, for them. Rachel prompting with little questions and Nadia spilling everything she knows about the little dramas of the Institute.

“Yeah, balding guy, works in HR?” Nadia sets her mug down on the table next to the coffee machine. She never actually pours herself coffee or adds anything to it (not that the cheap powdered cream is worth adding), hell, Rachel’s not even sure if she drinks coffee.

“I know who he is,” Rachel scoffs. She begins the task of selecting a mug, carefully checking the insides for smudges. There never are any but that doesn’t stop her from inspecting every mug. “I always thought he was really straight-laced, why’d he get called in?”

Nadia pushes her cuticles back with a coffee stirrer. Her nails are always immaculate, short with no dirt underneath and perfect cuticles. “Apparently, he got called in because his trousers were an inappropriate length.”

“Like they were too short? Too long?” Rachel starts pouring her coffee, taking longer than she should. Part of the fun of their gossip ritual is drawing it out.

“According to Lacey, who’s kinda got a thing with Lawerence, but let’s be honest she can do so much better, when he asked, Bouchard just shrugged and told him to read the handbook.” 

“I didn’t even know we had a dress code or a handbook for that matter.” 

“Well, apparently we do.” Nadia throws the coffee stirrer in the trash, her cuticles perfect as always. “I read through it and it is the vaguest nonsense I’ve ever read.”

Rachel’s finished pouring her coffee and their ritual falls into its lull. Nadia pauses, waiting for Rachel to offer up her statement. Every day, Rachel is struck by the intensity of Nadia’s eyes, they’re almost hungry. But, every day, Rachel has nothing to offer. But Nadia’s eyes are drilling into her and Rachel doesn’t want this moment to end.

Rachel grabs the powdered coffee creamer and dumps way too much into her coffee. She’s been aching to do that for ages (well not add creamer, that stuff is truly terrible). She’s added another step to their dance and it’s exhilarating. Riding that high, Rachel does something truly stupid. “So what’s Elias’s deal, anyway?” she asks. Okay, it’s only a little stupid but, it feels bigger than it is. No one calls Mr. Bouchard by his first name. There’s something about him that puts everyone on edge, like their being watched even when he’s not around. No one dares say anything even slightly disrespectful about him.

“I-I don’t know,” Naida says the words like their a surprise even to her. She picks her mug back up, swirling it around and looking deeply into the center of the vortex.

“I bet he’s just scheming to make everyone’s life miserable,” Rachel chuckles.

A hollow ringing sounds in Rachel’s ear at the same time Nadia looks up from her coffee. A smile like Rachel has never seen before spreads across Nadia’s face. Of course, Nadia has smiled before, she’s a very friendly person, but this one feels different. It’s genuine like Rachel has earned it. “You’re right, that’s exactly what he’s doing,” Nadia says it with such confidence, Rachel doesn’t even think to question it.

Rachel feels a blush rising in her cheeks the longer she looks at Nadia’s smile. To hide her reddening face, she takes a long sip of her coffee. Except, the powdered creamer isn’t dissolved and she ends up choking on a clump of the awful stuff.

“I’ll see you at lunch,” Nadia calls behind her as she walks back to her desk. Rachel can’t decide if she should be embarrassed by the whole scene or relieved Nadia didn’t comment on it. She feels wetness on the front of her shirt, embarrassed it is then.

Rachel has a new purpose in life (God knows that the Magnus Institute doesn’t give her one) and it’s bringing Nadia something she doesn’t know.

There’s one thing that’s not horrendous about the Magnus Institute, the food. The ground floor of the building has a bunch of shops to get food during lunch breaks and nice places to sit. It reminds Rachel of a school cafeteria but with better food and less bullying.

“Who’s that guy?” Rachel asks. She points with her fork to a man across the room. He’s objectively handsome, not her type.

“Tim Stoker,” Nadia says.

“He’s wearing shorts,” Rachel says, “I mean it’s June but that’s got to be against dress code.”

Nadia rolls her eyes. “He works in the archives, dress code doesn’t apply to them, nothing applies to them. Bouchard dotes on the archive team, fucking prick, it’s the only part of the institute he cares about.” 

Rachel watches Nadia watch Tim. She realizes with a painful start that Nadia might think Tim is more than objectively handsome. “How do you know him?” Rachel blurts out without thinking.

Nadia shrugs. “I don’t know, just do.” She takes a long sip of her drink. Oh god, did she sleep with him?

“Why the archive, of all things?” Rachel watches Tim walk to a table full of people that are also breaking the dress code.

“I don’t know.” Nadia’s eyes are once again trained on Rachel. A shiver runs down her spine, not a good shiver. The kind of shiver that takes over your whole body when you walk past a building of dark windows but you’re sure that someone is behind them. “Why don’t you find out?”

“Maybe I will,” Rachel says without thinking. She means it as a teasing flirt but Nadia quirks her eyebrow and suddenly she’s walking over to the archive table with absolutely no plan.

She plants herself in front of the table, taking in all the people sitting at it, and her brain bluescreens. Tim is there in all his handsome shorts-wearing glory but he looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here. He’s sitting next to a girl that Rachel is pretty sure she saw on a ghost hunting youtube show. She looks just as pissed as Tim. Their anger is blinding like someone just turned on the lights in a dark room. The worst of the table is a man covered in strange circular scars. His frame is gaunt like he could blow away in a stiff breeze. He looks like he hasn’t showered in days and Rachel is pretty sure he’s wearing pajama bottoms. The only normal people at the table are an apathetic woman with her head buried in a book and a big man in a jumper. A blanket of dread covers the group and when Rachel takes a breath, she can feel a bit of it settle in the pit of her stomach.

“Can we help you?” ghost hunting girl growls. She looks at Rachel like she’s rotten; like she’s responsible for something terrible. It makes her skin crawl.

“I-um-I…” Rachel has forgotten why she came over here in the first place. Her head swivels until she catches Nadia’s eyes from across the room. “I was wondering if I could look at the archives?”

“Look?” Tim scoffs, rolling his eyes. “At the archives?”

“I mean...” Rachel stammers, “...read them?”

“Do you work here?” The man covered in scars asks. “Or do you want to give a statement?”

The woman with the book looks up just long enough to swat him, mumbling something about self-control.

“Uhhh…” Rachel trails off. The longer she stands here, the fuzzier her head is. She’s dipping into something that she shouldn’t but she needs to know what it is. For Nadia.

“Don’t mind them.” The big guy stands up, extending his hand. Rachel gladly takes it. “You can come by this afternoon and I’ll help you find what you’re looking for. I’m Martin by the way.”

Once Martin lets go of her hand, Rachel mumbles some thanks and scrambles back to her table. Nadia is waiting for her, eyes full of amusement from the disaster she just witnessed.

Against her better judgment, Rachel decides to go to the archives that afternoon. She asked her supervisor where it was but he didn’t know. Neither did anyone else in the office. What the fuck is the deal with the archives? The people are cryptic, their jobs are cryptic, where they work is cryptic. It’s the spooky shit she expected from the Magnus Institute but now it’s just irritating.

“You look miserable.” Nadia leans on Rachel’s cubical. Her eyes scan all the knick-knacks and empty water bottles on Rachel’s desk. Rachel feels raw as she watches Nadia’s eyes, that same shiver courses through her.

“Then, Bouchard’s elaborate scheme is working!” Rachel dramatically sighs and throws her head on her desk.

“What’s wrong?” Nadia asks, taking a step further inside the cubicle.

“I can’t find where the damn archives are and I need to get down there because it’s the only place in this horrid institute you don’t know about.” Rachel meant to brush Nadia off but the words just tumbled out. That always happens with Nadia, she wants to tell her everything even when she’d rather she didn’t. It’s so embarrassing.

“Why didn’t you just say so,” Nadia chuckles, “take the elevator to the lowest floor, turn right, then left at the boiler room”

“H-How did you, how could you possibly know that?” Rachel sputters, finally lifting her head from the desk.

“I got a tour when I was hired.” Nadia shrugs. “I just remember stuff.”

“I didn’t get a tour,” Rachel mumbles, mostly to herself.

Nadia pushes herself off the cubicle wall and walks back to her desk. “Have fun on your little field trip,” she calls over her shoulder.

The basement is way creepier than it has any right to be. Of course, Basements are always creepy. Rachel had one as a kid and she always felt like something was crawling on her back or nipping at her heels. After a really good horror movie, she wouldn’t go down there for a solid week. As soon as the elevator doors slide open, Rachel is that little kid again.

One of the archive team walks past the elevator, completely oblivious to the spooky atmosphere and Rachel’s existence. Rachel is pretty sure it’s the book woman but honestly she didn’t get a good look at her face at lunch.

“Excuse me?” Rachel jogs after her. The woman doesn’t seem to hear her, obviously wrapped up in her thoughts. “Excuse me,” Rachel tries again, this time tapping her shoulder.

The woman spins around, shoving Rachel up against the wall. Now, Rachel hasn’t _not_ fantasized about being pressed against a wall by a strong woman but as it turns out, there’s nothing homoromantic about a crushed windpipe.

Once the woman sees Rachel’s face, she quickly removes her hand from her throat. “Sorry, I thought you were someone else.” She only sounds a little sorry.

“Who?” Rachel coughs, rubbing her throat.

“It doesn’t matter.” The woman takes a step back and takes up a very professional posture, like a deadly apathetic tour guide. “What are you doing down here?”

“I’m looking for...Martin?” This whole experience is so surreal that Rachel is starting to doubt every detail.

“He’s in one of the filing rooms, I can show you the right hallway but you’ll have to look around.” The woman begins walking without waiting for a response.

“I’m Rachel by the way.” She has to jog to keep up with the woman.

“That’s nice,” she says, not slowing down or offering her name. An awkward silence falls between them. Well, Rachel thinks it’s awkward, the woman just thinks it’s silence.

“I think I know you from somewhere,” Rachel says. She takes a couple of steps faster, trying to get a good look at the woman’s face.

“I don’t think you do.” She marches ahead of Rachel.

“You look kinda like that police officer that was investigating the body found in the Institute. I don’t know if you were working here back then but it was really scary.” Rachel’s rambling to fill space. “Nothing really came of it, which is weird but I think the detective’s name was officer Hussain or something.”

“That’s me,” the woman says, “but it’s just Basira now.”

“Oh.” The flippancy in her tone catches Rachel off guard. “um...H-how did you end up working here?” It seems weird to have an ex-cop working an archiving job. Are those skills even related? 

“It’s a whole thing.” Basira waves her hand dismissively, a heavy sigh escaping her chest.

“Did you find out what happened?” Rachel has always been fascinated by crime so it was really exciting when they found the body under the tunnels (well, it was mostly sad and terrifying but exciting). “Did you find the killer?”

“Yeah, we found him but we couldn’t arrest him.” A wave of intense anger washes over Basira’s face that stops Rachel in her tracks. “That’s why I’m working here now.”

She stops in front of a corridor and her face returns to apathy. “Here you are.” 

“Uhh, Thank you,” Rachel says it more as a question. She’s still struggling to connect the dots between the murder and changing from police to an archival assistant.

“No problem.” Basira opens her book again. “Let me know if you need anything else.” Before Rachel can come out of her confusion, Basira is gone.

Rachel turns towards the corridor and a strange vertigo comes over her. The corridor seems to lengthen and stretch in front of her. Every door seems to hum like a hive of wasp or a computer processing too much at once. Each door is labeled but the paint is too chipped and faded to read.

“Okay, the weird spooky archive is weird and spooky,” Rachel says to herself, “weird and spooky is why you took this job. This is good.” The words do little to comfort her. With a deep breath, Rachel marches up to the first door and pushes it open. It creaks, properly creaks, like a door in a horror movie. With only slight hesitation (not nearly enough considering the situation), she steps inside.

“I assume you’re here to kill me,” a deep voice says from within. Rachel recognizes the voice as Elias Bouchard. Oddly enough, he sounds inconvenienced by the assumed attempt on his life.

“Uhhh no,” Rachel says utterly baffled.

Elias turns around. “Oh,” he says, looking over Rachel with a bored expression, “she’s late.”

“Who?” Rachel says because she earnestly can’t think of any other response. She’s never liked Elias, he’s a pretty shitty boss, but she never thought to make an attempt on his life (okay, that was one time and it had been a rough day).

“Melanie King.” He glances at his watch then closes his eyes like he just got a bad headache. “Oh, she’ll be here in five minutes.”

“The host of Ghost Hunt UK?” Rachel knew that she recognized her! But what the hell is a YouTuber doing working a corporate job?

“Is that what she did?” Elias doesn’t seem interested in the answer so Rachel keeps her mouth shut. “Was there something you needed?” Elias asks after a solid minute, realizing that Rachel isn’t going to go away on her own.

“I’m...uhhh...looking for Martin.”

“Three doors down the hall.”

Rachel has never moved faster in her life. God, Elias is the fucking worst. She always thought of him as the type of guy to stay in his top-floor office, not lurk in a strange file room. Whatever, as long as he signs her paycheck.

As soon as she’s out of the room, a tension releases itself from Rachel. The relief she feels is just like when she finishes a presentation, like all eyes are finally off her. She can’t place why she’s feeling it but it’s nice. She goes into the room that Elias told her about but why she’s come escapes her as soon as the door closes.

“Excuse me miss, can I help you?” Martin sits at a desk, a tape recorder in front of him.

“Oh, uh, I’m so sorry,” Rachel stammers, “were you recording?”

“No, no, don’t worry about it,” Martin stammers with equal force, “I wasn’t recording, just listening to a statement.”

They go on like that for a while, stammering out excuses and apologies.

“My name’s Rachel, we met at lunch,” Rachel says, finally managing to say what she means. “I was wondering if I could have a look around the archive?”

“Right, yes, of course,” Martin says, “do you want to make a statement, or are you researching a specific event, or…?”

“None of the above. I’ve worked at the Institute for several years now so I figured I should find out what we actually do.”

“Wait, the rest of the Institute doesn’t know what goes on down here?” Martin looks perplexed but also relieved in an odd way.

“No, you guys are kind of a mystery.” Rachel shrugs. Her eyes begin to focus on the rows and rows of files and cassette tapes. This place is huge and it’s only one room. “The only person who seems to know anything is the secretary, Rosie.”

Martin laughs sadly to himself. “That’s probably for the best.”

Rachel finds herself wanting to comment on that but she can’t quite get the words out. She’s transfixed by the cassette tapes on the shelves, her feet moving closer and closer to them. “What do you do anyway?” Her fingers brush over the tape, the labels old and corse.

“Well, people have experiences with the supernatural and we record them so they can be studied.” A hint of pride enters Martin’s voice. “I think it helps people.”

“Who studies them?” Rachel’s eyes follow the loops and curls of the handwritten labels.

“Just us, mostly.” Martin rubs the back of his neck. “Sometimes university students will include one or two in a research paper.”

That’s weird, Rachel should say that it’s weird, she should notice that it’s weird. But she doesn’t. She moves further down the rows of statements until she picks one up.

“Statement of Lacey Finley,” Rachel reads off the label, “regarding an odd bus driver for the town of Stokesley.” Rachel breaks out of her trance for a moment. “Hey, that’s my hometown. Mind if I give it a listen?”

“Uh, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” Martin’s eyes dart to the tape.

Rachel doesn’t hear him, she just walks back to the desk and pops the tape into the player.

“Case 9790313. Lacey Finley. Incident occurred in Stokesley England, October 1986. Statement given directly from subject, May 1987. Gertrude Robison recording.” An old woman’s voice pours out of the tape recorder. It’s homely and makes Rachel feel comfortable. Like a grandma she could tell anything to without worrying if it’ll get back to her parents.

“Are you sure you want to do this, dear?” The voice continues.

“Yes, I’m worried about my school mates and I know you can help.”

“Oh, it’s that Lacey,” Rachel says, “I went to school with her. She was a grade below me, a bit of a cry baby, but we took the same bus to school.”

“I really don’t think this is a good idea.” Martin reaches for the tape player but Rachel’s hands are already wrapped around it.

“Alright, why don’t you tell me what you witnessed?” the woman on the tape recorder says, her voice gentle and coaxing. Rachel almost opens her mouth to talk about her experience with riding the bus.

“I live in a very small town with one school that only has one bus. I was at the top of my class, so I wouldn’t lie about this.” Lacey can’t be older than ten on this recording and she’s obviously trying to sound grown-up, keeping her voice just a little too steady. “Our bus driver’s name was Ms. Flynn, or is Ms. Flynn, I’m not sure anymore. I always said thank you to her when I got off the bus and she’d always say ‘it’s what I’m here for’ and I always thought it was strange because I can still say thank you even if it is her job.

“I’ve been riding that bus since first year and Ms. Flynn would always make all the students on the bus sing happy birthday if it was someone’s birthday. My birthday is in October so we’d always be in school on that day. I hated it, I just wanted to read my books in silence, without anyone looking at me. The bus was always so loud. Until it wasn’t.

“I was in fourth year and Ms. Flynn was still driving the bus at the beginning of the year. I remember my mom told me about an accident that happened one weekend. I don’t remember the details but I know it happened. The Monday after, It was the last week of September, we got a new bus driver. Or I thought we did.

“I said thank you to her and she just nodded, didn’t smile, didn’t say something silly, she just nodded. At first, I thought it was nice to have someone more grown-up driving the bus. But after a week, it made me want Ms. Flynn back.

“I asked all the kids on my bus when Ms. Flynn would be back but they said that she never left, that Ms. Flynn was driving the bus. They told me to stop being such a baby, that I was being silly and rude. I stopped asking eventually. The other kids were so mean and the bus driver started giving me dirty looks. I asked my mom about the bus accident but she didn’t know what I was talking about. I didn’t want to get in trouble so I stopped asking.

“When my birthday came, no one sang to me. That was when I realized we hadn’t sung for birthdays all year. Whoever was driving the bus wasn’t Ms. Flynn but I was the only one who cared. She didn’t even look like Ms. Flynn but no one noticed. For a long time, I just thought everyone was just pulling a prank on me.

“I’m scared, Ms. Gertrude. One of the kids in a grade below me disappeared. I can’t say anything to anyone. The not Ms. Flynn will know and I’ll disappear too. You have to help, Ms. Gertrude.”

“Thank you, Lacey,” the old woman’s voice says, so soothing and peaceful. The tape clicks then continues. “This seems like a textbook case of the stranger. I doubt there’s much we can do but-”

The tape player is ripped from Rachel’s hand, now silenced.

“You shouldn’t have heard that,” Martin says. He pops the tape out and places it on the table.

“I-uh-I don’t feel good.” Rachel bends over the table, clutching her head. She’s not quite sure what she just heard. She remembers Ms. Flynn or at least she remembers having a bus driver. What did her face look like?

“You said you were a grade above her?” Martin asks, swallowing dryly.

“Yeah,” Rachel says shakily, still clutching her head.

“Do you want to make a statement?” Martin asks, clearly uncomfortable with the question.

“No.” Rachel releases her head and slowly stands up. “I really don’t.”

Martin breathes a sigh of relief. “Yeah, that’s probably for the best.”

The two just stand there, unsure of what to do. Rachel shouldn’t have listened to the statement but something was calling her. Martin should have stopped her but something gave him pause, just long enough for her to hear the important parts.

“The archives are weird,” Rachel blurts out.

“Yeah.” Martin shoves his hands deep into his pockets and rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet. 

The two of them continue to stand awkwardly, not looking at the tape. Rachel weighs the pros and cons of leaving. She definitely wants to leave but she feels like she knows less about the archives than ever.

Rachel sucks in air from the side of her mouth. “So...I’m gonna-” Before she can finish the sentence, the door burst open. The man with the scars from lunch walks in, eyes focused on the files. He pauses when he sees Martin and Rachel.

“Oh,” he says, “I didn’t realize that anyone was in here.”

“That’s good,” Martin says with a bright smile.

“I was just coming in to get a snack.”

“Good, good.”

Rachel is utterly baffled by this conversation. Is the filing room the best place to get a snack?

Martin looks over to Rachel and suddenly remembers she’s there. “Oh, Jon, this is Rachel.” He motions between the two of them. “Rachel, this is our head archivist, Jonathan Sims.”

Rachel has a better look at him now. The man looks like he hasn’t slept in months, his whole body gaunt and hunched, like something is eating away at him. His scars are much worse than she first saw, the circular scars cover every inch of exposed skin and probably areas not exposed. His head looks like it’s freshly recovering from being stuck in lava. And is that a slash mark across his neck? All that combined with his lack of hygiene and pajama pants, he’s the last person Rachel expects to be running things. 

“Oh, that’s nice,” Rachel says after a long pause.

“Are you, uhh, here to give a statement?” Jon’s eyes are hungry, not unlike Nadia’s. Although the feeling his question gives Rachel is far less warm, more like a cold dread in the pit of her stomach.

“Actually-” Martin steps between the two “-she was just on her way out.”

He leads Rachel out of the filing room and into the hallway. “I’m sorry about him, he’s usually nicer. Actually, that’s not true but at least less off-putting. Anyway, it would be best if you leave.” And with that, the door gently closes.

Rachel’s a bit put out by the whole thing. It might make a decent story but nothing properly weird happened. Just like the rest of the Magnus Institute, the archives are boring and full of assholes.

She turns around and there’s the elevator. No winding hallways or asking for help, she’s just right in front of it. Rachel rides it up and when she gets back to her floor it’s empty. Looking out the window, she can see that it’s well into the night. She couldn’t have been down there that long? It doesn’t really matter, she didn’t have anything important to do.

The next day, Rachel decides to do something she’s been trying to do for ages. She goes to Nadia’s cubicle, coffee in hand.

“So, you’ll never believe what goes on in the archives.” Rachel tries for the causal lean that Nadia always does but she’s sure she looks silly.

“You actually went down there?” Nadia asks, eyebrow quirked.

“Yeah, you wanted to know, so I had to.” Shit, she’s doing that thing again where just tells Nadia everything she’s thinking just because she asked.

Nadia smiles, her eyes lighting up. “That’s so sweet, I want to hear all about it.”

Rachel turns towards the coffee maker, elated to finally be the one to initiate the ritual, but Nadia grabs her wrist. She scribbles something down on a post-it note and hands it to Rachel.

“Do you want to tell me over dinner tonight?”

“I would like to do nothing more.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I know this fic isn't what most Magnus archives fics are like. If you enjoyed, leave a comment and kudos, they make my day! You can follow me on tumblr @stackthedeck I post a lot of Magnus archives stuff there. Check out my other Magnus archive fic, it'd mean the world to me, you can find it on my page.


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